


Kingston

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those two days were a lurid period, during which Hornblower and Bush contrived to spend each of them a hundred pounds in the dubious delights of Kingston.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingston

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, according to the research that black_hound did, to go through 200 GBP - lodging, booze, food and gambling not included - Bush and Hornblower would have had to go through 800 whores. I didn't manage quite that many. But I tried.
> 
> Originally posted 4-30-06

The pounds burn against his skin through the thin fabric of his pocket, heavy and hard against his flesh. He does not look at Bush as they approach the inn, his mind busy calculating the cost of the room, the cost of the rum, the cost of the women. They have three days shore leave, and he intends to make the most of it, the intense months past still weighing on his shoulders, aching to be shed with clothes and inhibitions and regrets. 

He accomplished much in the months aboard Renown, not all of it shameful. He succeeded where others failed, but only through the combined efforts of all he worked with. He can still hear the hiss of hot shot burning as they push their way through the door to the smell of sizzling sausage, heavy ale and smoke, the white sand from outside sprinkled liberally over the rough wooden floor. 

“This way,” Bush inclines his head toward a low desk beyond the tavern and Hornblower follows him, one hand turning a coin through his fingers, feeling the raised elements of it, still counting, still adding, splitting everything in half. Their profits and pleasures split down the middle, blood tainted with the deaths of their fallen comrades, but no less spendable for the stain.

“A room, two beds.” Bush’s voice is low and rough as he talks with the innkeeper, haggling price. Hornblower does not listen, hanging back in this. He can command and issue orders, can obey them as well, but he trucks no quarter with businessmen not avowed to serve His Majesty. “Two,” Bush repeats, the sound brooking no argument. The innkeeper shrugs and names a price and Bush turns on his heel, eager to be away. Hornblower falls in line with him, stopping only as Bush does to the man’s call.

The innkeeper’s wife leads them up a small, narrow stairway, the line of her back set in indignation at the price they’ve agreed to pay. She unlocks the door and opens it, sneering in their direction as they enter the fairly large space, two single beds pushed together near the center of it, other furniture arrayed around it. “Breakfast served at eight. Dinner last served at eight. Don’t be disturbing any of our other guests.”

Hornblower nods his thanks as Bush turns and ignores her, surveying the room instead. He looks back at Hornblower as the door shuts. “It’s not much, but the most I wished to spend.”

“What good is money if we do not spend it, Mr. Bush?”

“We will spend it, rest assured, Mr. Hornblower.” Bush tosses his small bag on the bed and reaches up to undo the black silk of his stock. “But not on our accommodations.”

**

Hornblower sinks down at the table and stares across the room. Most of the ladies of interest are plying their trade close to the bar, bosoms displayed precariously in shelves of lace and fabric. He glances at the large mug on the table and wraps his hand around it, lifting it and drinking down the cold brew in a long swallow. He sets the mug down and finds his gaze drawn to Bush who watches him with avid interest.

“A question, Mr. Bush?”

“Not at all, Mr. Hornblower.” He lifts his own mug in salute and drinks deeply, licking his upper lip free of foam. “Another?”

Hornblower lifts the metal pitcher left by the girl when Bush had laid four pounds on the table and told her for each pitcher they drank, she’d get a coin of her own. He fills his own mug again and then Bush’s, leaning back in his chair to enjoy the thick taste on his tongue as he watches the girls move through the crowd.

“Her?” Bush asks, nodding toward a redhead trailing her hand along the thigh of a sailor likely old enough to have sailed alongside Noah. 

Hornblower watches her laugh, her eyes bright and focused on the man she’s touching, her gaze only occasionally darting toward the rest of the room. He nods slowly and allows a small smile. The ale settles comfortably in his stomach and he takes another deep swallow. “To start.”

Bush laughs and reaches for the bottle at the edge of the table, turning the two glasses beside it over and pouring a healthy shot in each one. He lifts his glass and holds it out to Hornblower. “To start.”

Strong ale and stronger rum swim in Hornblower’s stomach and behind his eyes as he sweeps the room with watery vision as they drink draught after draught, the four coins disappearing with every pitcher. Bush gets to his feet unsteadily, approaching the redhead with the careful step of a man on deck in a stormy sea. Hornblower blinks, clearing his thoughts as best he can as his gaze falls on a blonde girl, thin and moderately attractive, her calculated gaze raking over the tavern. 

He gets to his feet as well, his mind registering Bush’s conquest and heavy tread as he escorts the redhead to the stairs. He closes the distance between himself and the blonde – not so young on close inspection, her eyes cool and blue. “Lieutenant Hornblower.”

“Maeve.”

“I’ve a room.”

“I’ve a price.”

He presses two coins into her hand and smiled, his mouth curled with the steady burn of desire like a slow match waiting to ignite fast match as it nears the powder. “I can meet it.”

“Lead on then. Lieutenant.”

**

The room is dark save for the moonlight, the soft noises of pleasure coming from Bush’s bed loud in Hornblower’s ears as he guides the door closed. “It’s extra to share.”

“I’m not sharing,” Hornblower informs her, hooking his hand behind her neck and pulling her close to him, his mouth closing over hers. She tastes of ale and spice, the scent of her overwhelming as her mouth opens, her tongue pushing against his as she steals the kiss away, her hands moving up and down his arms over the smoky wool of his uniform jacket.

The rustle of fabric echoes across the room, followed by a soft gasp and Bush’s rough growl. Hornblower breaks the kiss, sucking on the blonde’s lower lip until she moans, her body canting toward his. His free hand smoothes against the small of her back, riding over ribbons that lace up the tight dress as he captures her mouth again, her lips parted and tongue acquiescent as he draws it into his mouth with soft suction.

He guides her to the bed, easing her down onto her back, her dress fanned out around her. Pushing the fabric up, he kneels between her splayed feet and shrugs off his jacket and waistcoat, laying them over the end of the bed. She catches her skirt in her hands and begins lifting it, stopping as he puts his hand on hers and shakes his head. Something in her eyes changes as she meets his gaze, and he forces himself to relax, the harsh set to his features slowly ebbing away as he unknots his stock and tugs it free of his neck.

“Let me.” The words are a request, though carry the weight of a command as he pushes her skirts upward, baring stocking and flesh, pale yet flushed in the heavy heat of the Kingston night. A messy thatch of blonde tops her thighs, curling around the swollen pink that glistens in the moonlight that stretches across the floor and up to his bed. 

His arousal strains against his breeches, and he reaches to unfasten them, his fingers sure despite the heat pooling inside him, the need pulsing against his flesh. There’s a stuttered gasp from the bed beside them and his flesh responds, hardening further still. He pushes his breeches down with his small clothes, his hand curving around the length of his arousal. 

Leaning in to kiss her, he closes his eyes against the cool blue of hers, his tongue pushing past her lips in time with the tip of his cock breaching her flesh, sheathing in wet heat. She makes a noise low in her throat, pressure pitching it up an octave as he thrusts deeper, rocking his hips forward as she angles her body upward, her heels digging into the bed next to his knees.

The relative quiet of their movements is brought into sharp relief as Hornblower breaks the kiss, her soft gasp for air brushing his ear as he turns his head, his eyes taking in the sight across the small gap that separates the beds. Bush’s head is buried in the redhead’s bosom, her pale breasts exposed, nipples dark as berries against the milky skin. Her mouth is open and expressive, her soft urgings timed with the rapid thrust of her hips as they rise and fall to match Bush’s thrusts, the heavy thrum of his pleasure vibrating in the humid air.

Hornblower’s body jerks as teeth sink into his neck, the hard bite of them soothed by the quick lave of the blonde’s tongue. He turns his gaze back to her and offers her a carefully schooled glance. His body continues moving, his hands on the bed beside her, his eyes on her parted, pink mouth and her increasing gasps of pleasure. He feels the keen pull of completion and slows his speed, ignoring her mewling protest. The redhead’s voice changes and silences, the grunt of Bush’s satiation filling the air. Hornblower closes his eyes, shutting the world out as he lets loose the heat coiled in his stomach, giving in to the pull of wanton and want. He feels himself spill inside the blonde and shudders in response, feeling the clenching tightness of her body grasping at his spent flesh.

He rests his head against her shoulder, the muscles of his arms straining under the slack weight of the rest of his body, his shirt clinging to his sweat-slick skin. Tremors ran through him as he lay atop her, turning his mouth to taste the perspiration that shone against her skin.

“You’re done, sir?” She asks, her voice cool and businesslike. Hornblower ignores the soft giggles coming from William’s bed, the rustle and glide of clothing and skin, as he lifts himself free of her, the strong desire to wash himself of the clinging, cloying scent of her burning inside him. 

“You have your coin?”

“I do, sir.” She slides off the bed and restores her clothing in the moonlight, the silvery threads of it highlighting her like a seraphim, only the high push of her bosom betraying her for what she truly was. “By your leave.”

He nods and watches her leave the room, turning on the mattress to stare at the door as the latch catches quietly. The sounds across the room have faded, mouths and bodies pressed together again, noises muffled. He forces his eyes closed and breathes, berating himself for the strong desire still flowing through his veins, the heat still pooled in his stomach, the needs not slaked.

His breath slows in his chest and he swallows, trying to commute the pulse of need into action, to bring himself to his feet and undress properly, clean the reminder of the blonde from his skin. Another soft giggle pierces the quiet and his jaw clenches, and he forces his eyes open, staring at the spreading stain that marks the ceiling.

His concentration is broken as the bed shifts and the redhead crawls over him, her bared breasts swinging close to his face. “’Allo. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant.” She laughs and turns her head toward Bush, the movement causing Hornblower’s eyes to follow. Bush lies on his side, staring at them both, his eyes dark and enigmatic. 

“Mr. Bush thought you might like a taste of what you was missin’,” the hard tip of one breast rubs against Hornblower’s lips and he parts them, instinct taking over as he suckles the firm flesh. His eyes remain on Bush as he tastes her flesh, her body grinding down on his, her skirts flared around them both as she presses the wet heat of her sex against his hardening flesh.

Hornblower gasps as her hand closes around him, guiding him inside her. His gaze moves over Bush – silent and still on the opposite bed, his eyes like a brand as they watch the slow, steady movement, the rise and fall of a heated wave as she leans forward again, her red hair falling free of its accoutrements to brush over his face, shrouding him from Bush’s eyes as his body surrenders, shuddering to climax again.

She stays astride Hornblower as she tucks her breasts back into her dress and laces it up, her smile widening as she digs into her pocket and pulls free the coin Bush had paid her. She bites it with a wink at Hornblower, then slides off his lap and disappears out the door.

“You overpaid,” Hornblower informs Bush softly.

Bush shakes his head and turns on his back, breaking their locked gaze. “It was worth it.”

**

Hornblower stares at the ceiling, his hand under his head as bells toll in the distance. The sun is barely past the horizon, and he feels the pull to get up, get to his feet, begin the day, but the soft, light air of the morning holds him to the bed. There’s a knock at the door and her turns his head and watches as the water girl comes in with two steaming pitchers in her hands. 

“Water for you, Sir.” She places the pitchers behind the screen then hurries back into the body of the room, making her way to the door.

“Thank you,” Hornblower nods and sits up, conscious of the thin fabric of his night shirt as she stops and turns, offering him the barest of curtsies. The door closes behind her and he glances at Bush, still slumbering. One hand is over his head across the pillow and the other rests on his chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing steady beneath it.

He pushes the covers off himself and moves past Bush’s bed to the window, his eyes on the distant haze of the ocean, the sight of Renown riding at anchor. Glancing back at Bush, he tugs off his shirt and small clothes, setting them in a pile beside his feet as he pours hot water into the basin, inhaling the steam.

He scours his skin with the rough cloth and hot water, leaving trails of red on his flesh. He lifts the basin, carrying it to the small drain in the floor and upends the bowl over his head, letting the water sluice away the remains of the previous night. He shivers in the heat and the prickling cool of the morning air, returning the basin to its stand and gathering his things, turning and finding himself face to face with Bush. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Bush nods and moves past him, pouring his own water to wash. Hornblower moves back into the main room, tucking away his housewife and his night shirt as he prepares his uniform for the day. He glances toward Bush as he shaves, the razor rasping against his skin. “Shall we go down for breakfast?”

Hornblower nods, bringing his eyes back to his uniform, smoothing the rough creases in the faded fabric. He beings dressing slowly, methodically, taking his time with the worn material, fingers running over patches and ragged threads. His pace increases as Bush finishes his morning ablutions, his fingers knotting his stock as Bush moves to the bed across from him and begins to dress.

“There was talk last night of a game in the Quarter.” Bush makes short work of dressing, his powerful frame sharp in the brushed dark wool. “After breakfast, if you’re so inclined, perhaps we could seek it out?”

“Fine.” Hornblower nods again, applying his hands to the hem of his jacket to straighten it one last time as Bush gathers up his hat. They fall in step together, the soft tread of their shoes in steady rhythm as they make their way down the stairs into the bustling room, swept free of the scents of the night before. 

The proprietor’s wife curtsies as they enter, guiding them to a table. Hornblower settles into his seat, barely setting his hat aside as a large platter is set before him, heaped with steaming thick slices of ham and the shimmering white gloss of egg. Bush groans and digs into his food, stabbing a slice of ham with the same aggression he shows in battle as Hornblower slices his neatly. The serving girl sets another platter between them, this one piled high with sliced fruits, dripping with grapes and the juice of pineapple, guava and passion fruit, mangoes sliced open and laid bare. 

Hornblower stares at the platter until the heavy scent of coffee meets his senses and he turns his head to find a steaming mug in front of him. The aroma draws a soft sound from his throat and he picks up the thick mug with both hands, taking a small sip and closing his eyes as the flavor spreads across his tongue.

He sets the mug down to find Bush staring at him, his blue eyes dark. Hornblower swallows, his throat still warm from the coffee, then turns his head back to his breakfast, staring fixedly at his plate until it’s cleared. Bush pushes the plate of fruit toward him and Hornblower glances at it, stealing slices of fruit under Bush’s watchful eyes.

Bush leans back in his chair, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach, satiation evident in the pleased wrinkles that bracket his eyes. “Well, Mr. Hornblower, do you feel up to soaking in the island’s natural charms?”

“By which you mean a game of dice in a darkened lounge, surrounded by drunken sailors and local men?”

Bush laughs and leans forward, his voice dropping and caging the sound between the two of them. “And then surrounded by the local ladies, Hornblower.”

Hornblower swallows the dregs of his coffee, hiding his blush in the mug as Bush pushes away from the table. He gets to his feet as well, both of them gathering their hats and moving easily outside. They settle their hats on their heads as the clinging humidity plasters Hornblower’s uniform to him, the heavy breakfast a weight in his stomach. “Lead on, Mr. Bush.”

**

The drink in his hand is flavored with spices and banana, and he sips it slowly, resisting the urge to drink it down as easily as he had the last three. There is a faint haziness to Bush’s outline as he leans over the table, laughing and chattering with the other men, his hand shaking the bone dice. He releases them to a loud shout followed by raucous cheers growing louder as Bush shoves another handful of coin toward the large dark-skinned man opposite him.

“Come and play, Hornblower.”

“I do not fare well at games of chance, Mr. Bush.”

“Your life is constantly a game of chance, Mr. Hornblower, always falling on the fair side of the odds. I could use your calculating or, if not that, your luck.”

Hornblower takes another drink and moves closer, observing the table’s pitted surface and chalk drawn squares. He eyes the precision and nods, leaning toward Bush with a serious expression. “Try to roll a six.”

“Your keen analysis is, as always, appreciated, Mr. Hornblower.” Bush picks up his glass and offers Hornblower a toast before downing half of the spicy sweet drink. He chases it with a glass of ale, wiping his hand with the back of his mouth as the dark liquid spills across his lips. The Jamaicans cheer and push the dice toward Bush again as Hornblower takes another small sip.

“Your friend. He’s going to lose all his money.”

Hornblower turns and blinks, his eyes roaming over the creamy caramel skin barely covered by a emerald green shift tied at the neck and hung loosely around a thin yet well-curved body. Dark hair falls to the middle of her back and her eyes are the color of the sea. “It is his to lose, and your friends do not seem so sad to see him part with it.”

“There are,” she moves closer, her dress swirling, offering tantalizing flashes of skin, “better ways to lose money…and to get something for it.”

Hornblower lifts his drink and drains it, all caution against the deceptively sweet taste forgotten. “I…”

“Do you have money?” She edges closer still, her hand running along Hornblower’s arm. “Money for me?”

Hornblower licks his lips and swallows, a hint of hysterical laughter boiling in his throat. He glances quickly at Bush whose eyes are no longer on the table, but intent on the hand sliding to Hornblower’s chest. Forcing his eyes back to the girl in front of him, Hornblower manages a quick nod. “Perhaps.”

“Come then, Sir.” She threads her fingers through his, leading him toward the table, brushing past Bush. As they pass, Bush catches Hornblower’s other arm and halts their progress.

“Where are you going?” He brings his eyes to the girl holding tightly to Hornblower’s hand. “Luring my friend away and leaving me in the clutches of your friends and relatives, are you, girl?”

“You’ve not much more to lose to them, Sir.” She smiles at Bush then, assured that he will follow her gaze, and turns to look at the door she had been leading Hornblower toward. There were two other girls standing there, both as flimsily clad as she. “You want something besides humiliation for your money, Sir?”

Bush straightens, his blue eyes flashing at her tone, his grip tightening on Hornblower’s arm. Hornblower’s words are cut off as the main door opens, flooding the dim room with brilliant sunlight and rowdy sailors. Bush nods and turns, grabbing his coin from the side of the table, flipping one across and into the hands of the largest of the men. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

The girl smiles and tugs on Hornblower’s hand, pulling him toward her two friends with Bush in tow. “This sailor,” she nods at Hornblower, “has money to spend. And this one,” she tilts her head toward Bush, “has money to lose.” The girls all laugh, the two against the door stepping aside to allow them to enter the cool hallway, fingers picking and pulling at the blue jackets, urging them off as they make their way toward the candlelit rooms.

**

Smoke curls from the candles, mixing with the spicy burn of incense and stinging the back of Hornblower’s throat. The girl who had approached him divests him of his jacket and waistcoat, pausing only long enough to laugh as he takes his purse from the pocket of the blue wool and wraps the leather straps around his wrist. “If you want me to tie you up, Sirs, all you have to do is ask.”

Hornblower blushes hotly, the stain spreading across his chest as she pushes him down onto the large bed, her hands working quickly at his breeches. Beside him, Bush lies between two of the girls, both already bare-chested and laughing, one tugging at his shoes while the other urges his hips upward to strip off his pants. 

“You like our drinks, Sirs?” Hornblower’s attention is caught again by the girl now straddling him, her dress gone, her body like milky coffee above him. “They make you feel good?” She leans forward, her breasts brushing against his parted lips. “I’ll make you feel good.”

She pulls back and replaces her breasts with her lips, her tongue scented and spicy as well as it slides over his. He moans deep in his throat, perspiration dotting his skin as she insinuates herself against him. He breaks the kiss and struggles to breath, inhaling sharply only once before strong fingers grasp his chin and turn it, one of Bush’s girls fitting her mouth easily to Hornblower’s.

“You like my girls kissing on you, Sirs?” The woman atop him rakes her nails down Hornblower’s chest, breaking the kiss on a heavy groan. He brings his eyes back to her as she leans forward. “You like the taste of Jamaican rum?” Hornblower opens his mouth to speak, stopping as she presses a wet finger to his lips, sliding it into his mouth. He closes it instinctively, sucking on her finger. “I taste better, don’t I, Sir?”

She inches up his body, her eyes holding his as she settles herself on his chest, her legs crossing over his spread arms, her hands reaching for the headboard against the wall as she lifts herself then slowly lowers her heated flesh to him. He swallows hard, the rest of the room, the rest of the world dissolving in the scent of her – jasmine and woman – and the thick, warm taste of her as she coats his tongue. He moans and moves his hands, gripping her hips as best he can, pressing his tongue hard to the tight nub of her clit before sliding it down and letting it push up inside her.

His ears fill with the pulse of her blood and his own, her voice vibrating down through her body as she writhes above him, dancing on the pressure of his tongue as he licks and sucks at her wet flesh, stroking deeply inside her before brushing just the tip of his tongue around and then over her clit until she’s thrusting down hard against him. He pulls back and breathes deeply, the cloying scent of musk and arousal filling his head as he nips gently at the swollen skin attempting to shield her from him. She looses a soft moan and he growls a rough smile in response, until it is ripped from his throat as heat – wet, slick, burning heat – sheaths around his cock.

His hips buck up against the ones bracketing his, feeling the hard press of a soft body weighing on him. His fingers dig into the hips at his hands, feeling flesh grind against bone as he renews his efforts, his tongue plunging deeper, pressing harder. His hips respond in kind, rising and falling with the guiding thrust of the body above him, her fingers trailing up and down his abdomen. His groans coincide with distant ones from Bush, echoing again and again in the room, silent save for their sounds and the heavy breath of the woman trembling against Hornblower’s tongue.

Liquid heat bathes his tongue as Bush is drowned out by a keening moan from the woman above him, her cry stuttering as his tongue continues moving, pressing deeper against her orgasm, seeking more. He hears her fists hitting the headboard and her ragged breath, the sounds muted until she falls away from him, her body shaking violently as she lies between Hornblower and Bush.

Nails scratch at his throat lightly, catching his chin and turning his face back to the woman straddling him, her smile wide and promising. His gaze casts to the side quickly, one girl’s head was bent over Bush’s waist, her dark curls shrouding the movements of her mouth and hands while the other had moved to Bush’s side, her mouth on his. Hornblower feels the sharp bite of nails again and focuses on the woman above him, his hands stroking the curve of her hips before settling, pressing her down as he thrusts up.

She laughs softly, her voice throaty and musical, her breasts swaying as she rides him, setting their speed with the controlled roll of her hips and the tight clench of her body around him. Hornblower lets his hands slide up her waist to the curve of her breasts, cradling them, his long fingers pale against her skin, the nipples surprisingly pink against the darkness. 

She closes her eyes as he rubs the hard tips, pinching them between thumb and forefinger. She shudders at his touch and thrusts down harder, her mouth falling open with a shaky breath. He closes his eyes and slides his hands back down to hers. He licks his lips, the tart tang of the girl still in his mouth. He hears a whimper again and turns his head to see Bush’s arm tight around Hornblower’s first girl, Bush’s mouth closed firmly over her breast. 

Nails dig in again, dangerously close to where their bodies are joined and he looks back to the girl astride him, responding in kind and digging his own short nails into her skin. She undulates on top of him, her body clutching at his; wet, tight muscles clamp and cling to his hard flesh, milking it, urging his release. She frees her hands from his abdomen and grasps at his wrists, bringing his long, slender fingers back against her breasts.

Bush’s groan pierces through the sound of labored breathing and whimpers of pleasure, the sound deep and hot in the still air. Hornblower bites his lip, refusing to unleash his own sound as he pushes himself, driving harder, faster up into the girl above him. His hands are rougher on her breasts, squeezing, pinching, pulling, and she’s moaning, her own body moving with increased urgency. His teeth meet through his flesh and he comes, his body jerking wildly beneath her, the spill of her own release pooling hotly against his skin.

The girls slowly slide away, moving off the bed like snakes, swaying and slithering out of the bed. The girl who had led them stands with her two friends, smiling back at Hornblower. “It was good, Sirs?” Her body sways more as she walks, as Hornblower blinks back the sudden dizziness that swims in his head. She leans over him, her breasts still bare, her mouth still smiling, her eyes flat and dark. She reaches for the purse laced around Hornblower’s hand and opens it, freeing a fistful of coins from the leather pouch. She jingles the coin, shaking it in her tightly closed fist. “Very good.”

Her friends laugh and she hurries after them, disappearing from the room in a swirl of exotic scents. “You just lost as much money as I did at the table.”

Hornblower glances at Bush – his naked flesh shining with sweat. “They charged you nothing?” At Bush’s nod, Hornblower gives him a smirking grin. “In that case, Mr. Bush, I think you owe me.”

Bush gets to his feet with a sly smile and reaches for his uniform. “Yes, Mr. Hornblower. I suppose I do.”

**

The walk back to the inn and tavern is a long one, beset with heat and mosquitoes drawn to the dank, heavy smell of sex that seems to bite at Hornblower’s nostrils, swim with the rum in his head and his stomach until he sways slightly as they walk. Bush is no more steady on his feet, the heat leeching strength from them. 

They stop at the edge of the Quarter, settling on a low bench, sweat beading on their brows as they remove their hats. Bush’s fingers prick at his stock, the black silk wilted, its color tinged slightly gray from the wear and the wash of rough seawater. Hornblower gazes out at the sea, the water bright and lushly blue-green, whitecaps rolling in toward the shore. The smell of it lingers, brushes away the other scents that cling to him. 

”A wash and a nap for me, I think.” Hornblower turns his head to Bush as he stands, his hat firmly on his head. “What about you, Mr. Hornblower?”

“A drink that does not cloy on my tongue, a wash and a nap, Mr. Bush.”

“The cloying on your tongue is not the drink, Hornblower.” Bush smiles and catches the brim of his hat in a quick salute, turning and beginning the walk, his lips still curved as Hornblower catches up and they fall easily into step.

**

Bush’s knife slices the steak in two, the pink flesh glistening bright with the tinge of blood, seared edges a dark contrast. Hornblower tends to his own steak, spearing a large chunk of meat and pressing it to his lips, savoring the taste on his tongue before taking it into his mouth.

“You see,” Bush points with his fork to the gathered women through the door in the tavern proper, lined against walls and bar stools, skirts scored high to ply their wares. “A room full of promise.”

“Our afternoon filled with promise was not enough for you, Mr. Bush?”

“Not when there is more to be had.” Bush lifts his mug to his lips and drinks deeply of the heavy brew. “Our last night, Hornblower, and then who knows? More months at sea without a real bed or a real woman in sight? I shall take my promise where and when I find it.”

“And what kind of promise do you seek tonight?” The corner of Hornblower’s mouth curves as he spears another bite of steak. “A redhead again?”

“Perhaps, if my girl is available.” Bush’s grin is edged with the thick foam of his ale, his tongue swiping across his pale, thin lips to take it into his mouth. “A brunette for variety. A blonde – perhaps your friend – to whet my appetite for more meat.” He laughs and reaches for his mug, taking another drink. “You need to find one with something to hold onto.”

“As opposed to holding on to my coin?”

“What have you to do with money but spend it, Hornblower?” Bush stabs a hunk of his steak with his knife and lifts it to his lips, his teeth ripping at the flesh. “And what better to spend it on that some sweet, wet young thing or two?”

“Shall we stop at two, Mr. Bush?” Hornblower glances down into his mug, surprised to find it empty. He reaches for the pitcher, filling both his glass and Bush’s. He takes another drink, draining half the metal mug before setting it down. “You’re setting your sights so low?”

“Two apiece, Mr. Hornblower.” Bush drains his mug and leans close to Hornblower. “So choose wisely.”

Hornblower licks his lips before taking the last bite of his steak. His eyes focus as best they can in the distance as Bush fills their glasses again. A fall of midnight black hair cuts across his vision and he blinks hard, forming the vague shape into the sway and curl of a body, a coil of blue-black that falls easily to the middle of her back. “That one.”

Bush follows his gaze and nods, smiling as the woman Hornblower has chosen moves over to the redhead they’d both bedded the night before. “And that one.”

Hornblower forces his eyes away from the two women and surveys the room again, this time russet gold catching his eye. She is different from the icy cool blonde of the previous night - laughing and warm and eyes like sapphire. “That one.”

Bush pours the last of their pitcher between their two mugs and raises his to his lips, draining foam and ale. Hornblower follows suit, his eyes tracking the room, following the trajectory of Bush’s gaze. He stops several times, eyes narrowing, the wrinkles that line his eyes deepening and then relaxing as he moves on to the next and the next. Finally he stops and smiles, pushing his mug away and getting to his feet. 

Hornblower glances to where Bush’s eyes landed and he nods, standing as well as he finishes the ale in his mug. This girl is buxom and has a mane of chestnut, her eyes dark as pecans and her lips ringed red with swollen promise, bee-stung and sweet. “That one.”

“Yes indeed, Mr. Hornblower. That one.” He threads his way from the dining area to the tavern, nodding to several other sailors that they know. He heads immediately to the redhead and bends low to talk to her, her smile widening as Hornblower draws near. 

“You and your friend want a good time, Mr. Bush?”

“Yes, which we know you will provide.” Bush’s voice rumbles, low and rough as Hornblower moves opposite him, his eyes on the thick cord of dark hair where it brushes the sweep of the skirt of the other girl, her eyes just as dark, flashing with amusement as Hornblower neared. “But we’re hoping that you won’t be alone in providing our evening’s entertainment.”

“You think I’m not woman enough to, Mr. Bush?” She runs her fingers over the raised anchor of his buttons. “You and your friend think you’re too much man for the likes of me?”

“We wish,” Hornblower is as surprised as the rest at the sound of his voice, the warmth of the dark-haired girl’s back beneath his hand, “for something of a boarding party. A host of skills in any number of able-bodied…persons.”

“A party,” the redhead laughs in delight, and moves between Bush and Hornblower, sliding her arms through theirs. “Every girl loves a party. Particularly one that comes with favors. You’ll have favors for us, Mr. Bush?”

“Golden favors.”

“And who d’you want at your party?” Bush leans down and whispers, his voice just below Hornblower’s hearing in the growing noise of the room. The redhead nods once and smiles, disentangling herself from both of them. Her eyes sweep the room and she nods again, her fingers brushing Bush’s chest again. “Go upstairs, Mr. Bush, and take your friend.” Her eyes look Hornblower over from head to foot before she pushes the dark haired girl toward them. “Liz’ll go with you and start the party. First ashore, and all that.”

Liz threads her arm through Hornblower’s, her hand curving around his forearm and resting against the dark wool of his uniform. Hornblower glances at Bush for a moment before moving toward the stairs, hearing Bush’s deep voice order bottles of wine sent to their room and the soft clink of coins to assure their arrival. 

“What’s your name, Sir?”

“Hornblower. Horatio Hornblower, second Lieutenant of His Majesty’s ship Renown.”

“And your friend?”

“William Bush.” 

“I would say it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir,” she tightens her hand as they start up the stairs, “but the pleasure’s yet to come.”

**

Hornblower watches as the girl – Liz, he reminds himself – moves to Bush. She settles her hands on his shoulders and lifts herself up, whispering in his ear. He mumbles something that is likely assent as his lips stroke the line of her throat, his tongue dark against the hollow beneath her ear. He catches her earlobe between his lips and sucks at it, his white teeth flashing before he sets her away from him and moves to the beds, pushing his toward Hornblower’s.

Liz turns and smiles at Hornblower, her tongue sweeping across her lower lip as she unfastens the front of her dress, tugging it away from her breasts. She wriggles her shoulders, letting the dress fall away, the soft scent of powder rising in the air. Reaching back, she releases the ribbons and clips that hold her long hair, letting the sweep of midnight black close around her, falling around her face and breasts.

The rough scrape of the bed brings Hornblower’s eyes back to Bush for a moment, before turning back to Liz. She smiles and reaches out to Bush, bringing his hands to her waist, his thick, rough fingers sliding along the silk of her skirt, pulling the thick bands that kept it tied at her waist. 

Hornblower starts as hands catch his shoulders, his attention so rigidly held on Bush’s hands and Liz’s body that he doesn’t notice as the other girls enter the room, open wine bottles in their hands. Polly – Bush’s woman from the night before – slides her hands over Hornblower’s shoulders, hooking her fingers under the collar and tugging it away. “I think full dress will not be required for this, Lieutenant.” 

She lays his jacket aside and turns him, forcing his eyes to her. He takes her in as he did not the other night; her hair is lush and red, her eyes vivid green, her skin milk pale. “You think not?”

“Oh no, Sir.” Her fingers move over his waistcoat as the other two girls set the wine bottles aside, their deft fingers easily unfastening catches and clasps on each other’s dresses. Polly touches his face and brings his attention back to her, her hand sliding down to the black silk of his stock. “And we wouldn’t want you to wrinkle that fine uniform.”

A deep laugh from across the room turns Hornblower’s head and his breath catches at the sight of the three other women undressing Bush, pulling at his uniform like stretches of taffy, tugging it away from his unresisting flesh, his body in every direction surrounded by supple, powdered flesh. 

“Come, Lieutenant.” Polly’s finger slips beneath the placket of Hornblower’s breeches, guiding him along with her as she moves toward the bed. Bush’s eyes are bright with pleasure as they catch Hornblower’s in the instant before one of the girls wraps her hand in Bush’s hair and tugs his mouth down for a kiss. 

Hornblower glances down as hands begin to tug at his shirt, surprised to find himself staring into bright blue eyes, glinting like the seawater outside, the red-gold hair glinting in the firelight. He glances around for Polly, his gaze brought back to the girl in front of him as ger hands free his shirt from his breeches and then slide beneath it, her warm hands spreading over his stomach and up to his chest as she steps closer, pressing her bare breasts to his exposed flesh. “Hello, Sir.”

Hornblower licks his lips and nods, swallowing hard. “Hornblower. Horatio Hornblower.”

“I’m Annie.” She bends her head and presses a hot kiss to his chest through the bunched fabric of his shirt before letting her hands slide further, guiding it up off of him. She watches with an impish grin as he tugs it free of his wrists, letting his arms settle around her, his long fingers following the curve of the small of her back.

He bends his head and finds her mouth with his, her hot tongue pushing past his parted lips as her arms unravel his queue, fingers plucking and pulling at the ribbon and freeing it before fisting in the dark locks. Hornblower lets his hands slide further, sliding over her buttocks, squeezing the firm flesh and pulling her body flush against his. She breaks the kiss and gasps, her eyes darkening.

Hornblower’s slow descent to kiss her swollen lips again is cut off by the press of flesh to his back, hand circling his waist. He turns his head and sees the dark expanse of Liz’s hair feathering around him as her fingers find the buttons and work them free, her quick movements eliciting soft laughter as they brush Annie’s bare stomach. Hornblower captures her in a kiss again, tasting her light giggles on his tongue as he feels the rest of his clothes stripped away, uncaring as he steps out of his breeches and guides Annie back onto the bed.

The bed sinks beneath them as he breaks his kiss from her mouth and works his way down her neck and over her chest, his tongue seeking out the dark pink flesh that tops the flushed mounds of her breasts. A soft gasp at his side brings his head up momentarily, enough to see Bush as he falls back on the bed, the girl with the plush lips and roan colored hair climbing up his body and settling herself on Bush’s hard shaft. A thick groan escapes Hornblower’s lips, coinciding with Bush’s as the slick flesh parts around him. 

Annie’s hands find Hornblower’s face, turning it back to her lush body, spread out beneath him. He cuts short his exploring, settling over one breast and finding the nipple, suckling at the tip. From the corner of his eye, he can see Bush turn his head, watching Hornblower’s mouth curve and form around the dark flesh. His breath warms Hornblower’s arm, every puff sending tendrils of Polly’s hair against Hornblower’s skin as she leans in to steal Bush’s mouth away.

Soft yet strong hands push at Hornblower’s hips, easing him away from Annie’s body, into the warm press of flesh as he slides into the gap between Annie and Bush. He shifts, trying to settle into the small space, half on his side as the knee of the girl astride Bush digs into his thigh and Bush’s rough hand presses against the curve of his buttocks for a moment before moving up to the girl’s hips as warm, wet lips surround Hornblower’s shaft. He groans, falling back on the bed as Annie shifts, his head hitting the rough wood frame of the two beds, as Liz’s mouth closed around him, his cock flush with heat.

Hornblower watches as Bush’s hand falls away from the hip of the girl astride him and tangles in Liz’s dark hair. Hornblower groans and reaches up, his hand sliding along Bush’s as he fingers the silken mass as well, his attentions torn as Annie’s lush lips cover his. His other hand threads through the red-gold of her hair and holds her mouth to his, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth in rhythm with the low strokes of Liz’s tongue.

Another hand joins Hornblower’s, urging Annie’s mouth free of his. He groans low as she lifts her head, stretching across him to fit her lips to Polly’s, licking and sucking at bright red flesh. Hornblower turns his head, his gaze falling to Bush. The older man’s eyes are closed, his breath rasping loudly through his nostrils as his mouth suckles at Polly’s breast, tongue flashing occasionally against her skin. Hornblower shudders, the sensation heightened as cool air bathes his cock. 

He groans at the loss of Liz’s hot mouth, his hand falling to his stomach as she pulls away, the heavy weight of Bush’s hand sliding across his hip. He shivers at the movement, his mouth opening on another groan, his fingers grazing the side of Bush’s hand before it pulls away, fitting to the waist of the girl astride him, holding her as his momentum shifts, his mouth opening in a gasp around Polly’s breast.

Hornblower looks away from the sight, his body rigid with need, his eyes locking with the strange silver-violet of Liz’s as she positions her body over his and slides down over his cock. He shudders, his head falling back again, his hands seeking out the supple flesh of Annie’s body laying over his. He turns his eyes to the kiss she shares with Polly, tongues and hands now in play as they slide across himself and Bush, breasts and pale flesh against his chest. 

Liz’s breasts bob and sway above the arch of Annie’s back and she cups them with her own hands, displaying them for him, full and blushed with heat before she captures the hard tips between her thumb and forefinger, pinching and rolling them as Hornblower licks his lips.

The girl settled on Bush’s hips gives a soft gasp, her head falling back, the coils of her copper tinged hair slithering down her back like snakes in the candlelight. Tendrils clung to her face, darkened to black with perspiration. Hornblower can feel the movement of her thighs as she continues to ride Bush, the slide and stroke of muscle caressing him as she increases her speed, her breath matching Bush’s ragged gasps against Polly’s flesh.

Polly pulls back and Annie slumps across Hornblower’s chest, turning her swollen mouth to his. He kisses her greedily, the sound of low satisfaction rumbling in his ears as Bush’s orgasm rocks through him, his foot brushing Hornblower’s calf as he braces himself on the bed to thrust up into the girl atop him. Hornblower groans at the contact, his own hips moving in rough concert with Liz’s.

Annie swallows the sound then pulls back, watching him with rapt eyes as Liz stills above him, her body tight and tense as her orgasm bathes him, his entire body responding in kind, hips jerking roughly and pushing his climax deep. Blood pounds in his ears as he closes his eyes, letting sensation and sweat dry on his skin as the bed shifts around him, the warmth of pressed bodies leaving him.

The dewy wet glass of a bottle of wine brushes his arm and he looks up to see Bush standing by the table, his hands full of wine and women, the bottle pressed to his lips and his eyes on Hornblower. Hornblower fumbles for the bottle, opening it and taking a long draught of the bittersweet wine. Bush’s arm is around Polly, his lips alternating between hers and the mouth of the bottle, tongue tracing both before drinking. The other girls are pressed close, Liz sitting on the edge of the bed with the girl Bush had just had, bottle passing between them, softly whispered laughter filtering back toward Hornblower as Annie settles back on the bed beside him.

Following his eyes as she steals the wine bottle from him and takes a drink, she nods to the girl next to Liz. “That’s Kate.” Annie’s eyes are bright, and he can smell the scent of sex from her, sharper than the heavy weight of it in the room. “You’ll like her.”

Hornblower catches her mouth in a kiss, the taste of grape on her tongue as it pushes past his lips. Reaching for the bottle, he takes it from her hand and sets it aside, guiding her back down onto the bed. She laughs against his mouth, the sound ringing clear as he moves away, feathering kisses down her neck, tasting the long curl of her blonde hair as it clings to her skin.

His tongue tastes the residual dusting of powder, light and sweet though just as gritty as the black soot of gunpowder. She is flushed with heat and desire, her body undulating beneath his as he sweeps down her skin, his mouth feasting on her flesh, teeth grazing the pert swell of her breasts, the rosy bud of her nipples. She mewls quietly as he takes her in his mouth, sucking on her, his teeth scraping the puckered flesh as his tongue laves the flat tip.

He can feel the heat of her sex as she cradles him between her legs, the thrusts of her hips urging him inside her. He ignores the insistent pull, the inherent desire to meet her thrusts with his own and slides lower still, the rough rasp of his evening’s stubble leaving faint trails of pink on her stomach. She makes a soft sound as Hornblower’s mouth dips lower, brushing the damp curls between her legs, her body canting upwards. He lets his hands trail down the path his mouth has taken, pulling back as he tangles them in the honey dark curls shielding her arousal.

He starts slightly at the feel of warm hands stroking his body, sliding along his spine to the sharp jut of his hips. He shifts, sliding up to lie alongside Annie’s body, pressing himself to her as he lets his fingers slip down past the swollen flesh to the hard nub it shields. The hands follow him, stay against his body as he moves. He closes his eyes and revels in the warm, light touch as he rests his head on Annie’s stomach, her breathing like the low roll of the sea.

His fingertips graze over Annie’s flesh, allowing little pressure as he opens his eyes, watching the upward swell of her hips before letting his gaze drift higher to land on Bush, himself tangled in two women as they guide him toward the bed. Bush laughs, the sound low and deep, thick with desire as he tumbles Polly to the bed and stares down at her with a hungry smile, ignoring Liz’s stroking hands as he stretches out, surprisingly cat-like, to wind his arms beneath Polly’s spread legs and open her body up before him.

A soft kiss at the nape of his neck catches Hornblower’s attention and he starts, his hips rolling forward to push his growing erection against Annie’s thigh. His fingers begin to move in earnest, no longer teasing her as he presses against the sensitive bundle of nerves, stroking and teasing it to Annie’s low cries of pleasure.

Bush lowers his head between Polly’s legs, his dark hair free of its queue and in complete disarray against her pale thighs. He offers another low rumble and Polly moans in response, her hands fisting in Bush’s hair. 

The woman behind him – Kate – wrests Hornblower’s attentions back, her hands stroking along his thighs, her soft breasts pressed to his back. She thrusts against him, stomach to his back, the residual heat of her sex warm against his buttocks. A soft sound breaches his throat and he closes his eyes, letting his thumb replace the pressure of his fingers as he slides them down to push inside Annie, two of them penetrating her willing flesh.

Annie’s breath hitches and she shudders, small tremors running through her. She lifts a hand and traces the curves of Hornblower’s face with shaking fingers; the unsteady sway of her stomach beneath his head hint enough of the effect of his thrusting fingers. He slides another finger inside her, pushing them deeper, feeling the stuttering gasps before the sound of them reach his ears.

Bush’s low moan draws Hornblower’s eyes back to him, following the line of his body, on elbows and knees as he feasts on Polly’s offered flesh. His hair is now clinging in damp tendrils and when he moves enough, Hornblower can see the glint of wet on his lips and tongue. Hornblower’s eyes drift back, watching as Liz presses herself to Bush, her breasts visible above the curve of Bush’s buttocks, her hands moving up and down the back of Bush’s thighs, over his arse. Bush moans again and Hornblower watches in slow fascination as Bush thrusts back against Liz, their actions obscured, though Hornblower’s mind supplies vivid suggestions that bring a moan to his own lips in response.

His hips roll forward again, his cock fully hard again as Bush’s panting breaths fill the room. He watches in a mixture of fascination and arousal, his body moving instinctively, his hand keeping time with his hips as he thrusts his fingers deeper, harder. Annie’s gasps match Bush’s breath for breath and she shudders at the end of Hornblower’s hand, her body closing hard and tight around him as her orgasm overtakes her. Her breathing dissolves into short pants, her hands finding the bed coverings and fisting in them as she arches off the bed.

Hornblower pulls himself away, his own breath short and tight in his chest. Annie spasms roughly as his hand leaves her, her whole body jerking in residual sensation. Hornblower sits up, out of reach of Annie and Kate, his eyes on Bush’s face, the flash of his tongue, the convulsive clenching of his hands on either side of Polly’s hips, the rough sway of his body as he thrusts back to meet Liz. Hornblower reaches for the wine, drinking deeply, wiping away the trails of it that slip past his lips to his chin. 

Polly gives a wordless cry, tugging hard at Bush’s head and pulling him free of her. He pants above her stomach, face wet and flushed, eyes glazed. Liz pulls away from him in turn, her eyes hot as they sweep to Hornblower, her lips curled in a knowing smile as she reaches toward him for the bottle he surrenders willingly.

Bush slumps to the bed, sprawling out between Polly and Annie, his breath slowly returning to normal. He glances up at Hornblower as he wipes his mouth, grinning a satisfied smile. Hornblower can feel the corners of his mouth curl up in response, and he bows his head slightly, causing Bush’s grin to widen.

Polly eases away from Bush, sliding silently off the bed and padding to the table, retrieving a bottle of dark rum. She opens it and takes a drink, wetting her lips with her tongue as she pulls the bottle away. She approaches the bed again, offering the bottle to Liz who reclines against Bush’s thighs. She dribbles some of the dark liquid on Bush’s skin, licking it off with her tongue. Bush groans, the sound slower, deeper than before and Hornblower glances at him again, slightly surprised to find Bush’s eyes half-closed and intent on him.

Without thinking, Hornblower reaches out, his fingertips just brushing over Bush’s parted lips. He swallows hard, his body reacting, his cock jerking in response. Bush’s tongue slips out to wet his lips and Hornblower catches his breath at the brush of it, his hand falling back to the bed. His breath returns, heavy and hard in his chest, as Bush moves, sitting and moving up the bed, his eyes hazy and yet focused, locked on Hornblower’s open mouth.

“I think I’ve not had the pleasure, Lieutenant.” The hand is firm on his chest, pushing Hornblower back down to the bed. He makes a soft sound of protest, silenced by the press of glass against his lips, the warm burn of rum down his throat. He swallows on instinct, the roan-red hair falling in Kate’s face as she straddles him easily, both of them slick and sticky with sweat and sex. “And I very much wish,” she takes the bottle from him and replaces it with a kiss, her tongue tasting the liquor from his, “to have the pleasure.”

Hornblower shivers as she pours a slow stream of rum down his chest, her tongue lapping at it, licking away the trails that it makes, running rivulets along his skin. He catches his breath as her teeth graze his skin, making her way down the dark hairs scattered across his abdomen, sucking sweet rum and sweat from the heated flesh at the base of his cock.

A soft cry catches his attention and he turns his head. Bush’s mouth is over Annie’s, his tongue pressing past her lips. His hands roam over her breasts, the pale flesh darkened with the shadow of bite marks Hornblower knows to be his own. He averts his gaze, turning it back to Kate as she sits back, her body like some ancient statue as she knees between his legs, her gaze full of promise as she tilts the bottle of rum, letting the waterfall of it splash warmly along the length of Hornblower’s cock, the burning sting drawing a hard gasp from his chest.

His hips thrust up as she smiles, licking her lips before pressing them to the head of his cock, opening them slowly to take him in. He closes his eyes briefly then opens them, turning his head to the side in time to see Bush bend down, his mouth closing over Annie’s breasts, his lips fitted to the dark mark left by Hornblower’s teeth. Hornblower groans hotly, his hand reaching out to graze the hard line of Bush’s thigh where it presses against the soft flesh of Annie’s.

Bush’s hand slides down Annie’s back, catching Hornblower’s long fingers, sliding along the length of them. His fingers spread, and his eyes close, his body awash in sensation as Kate’s mouth engulfs him and Bush’s fingers stroke him, turning his hand palm up to brush the sensitive skin.

Annie’s moan echoes Hornblower’s and Bush pulls away from them both. Hornblower lets his hand fall to the bed, his eyes on Bush as his hips react to Kate’s hot mouth, sucking and pressing the flesh of his cock. Bush kisses Annie and touches her again, his hands at her hips and guiding her, turning her around. Her eyes meet Hornblower’s as she braces herself in front of Bush, hands and knees digging into the soft mattress. Her lips are parted and swollen; her breasts swing free, her face flushed and dewy with perspiration.

Hornblower reaches out and touches her lips, gasping as she takes his finger in her mouth, sucking on it in tandem with the increasing pressure of Kate’s mouth against his length. He shivers hard, sensations warring within him and he fights the urge to close his eyes, raising them instead to Bush as he settles behind Annie, the shadow of his movements echoing Liz’s earlier, the hard gasp Annie makes as she releases his finger clue enough to Bush’s slow thrusts.

Shuddering hard, Hornblower grasps the bed linens in his fists, unable to control the hard buck of his hips. Kate groans around his cock, taking him deeper and he feels the smooth glaze of the back of her throat at his thrust. He grinds his teeth together in an effort to control the sounds that push from his body, his chest heaving, his breath breaking with every slow roll Bush buries in Annie’s supple flesh.

Bush’s eyes open slowly, seeking out Hornblower’s. Hornblower holds Bush’s gaze with his own, fighting to keep his eyes open as his body pushes closer to the edge of release. Kate’s fingers hold his hips, digging into his flesh, bruising the pale skin as she focuses her attentions on the head of his cock, tongue and lips pulling at the flesh as she sucks hard, her breath fanning in gusts in the dark thatch of hair at the base. 

Annie’s mouth is open, her words breathless as she begs softly, her whispered pleas of “Sir, oh, please, Sir” falling on deaf ears as Bush continues thrusting, his own breath growing short as he finally closes his eyes, his head falling back as he pushes himself deeper. Annie cries out, her hand grasping at Hornblower’s as she shudders uncontrollably, nearly collapsing beside him as Bush eases free of her.

Hornblower closes his own eyes, swallowing down the thick cries that tug at his throat as Kate’s hand slides down, spit slick to squeeze gently at his sac for a moment before tightening her hand, pressing two fingers hard to the sensitive skin beneath it as her mouth tugs at him one last time. He feels the heat leave him in a rush and gasps, what brief support his body had been failing him as he slumps back to the bed.

The faint rustle of fabric forces Hornblower’s eyes open and he raises up slightly, surprised to see Polly standing at the end of the bed. She is fully dressed again though fatigue bruises beneath her eyes. “We’ll take our leave of you, Sir.”

Hornblower’s eyes go to the door where the other three girls are standing, full bottles of wine in their fists. He nods, unable to do more as he eases back onto the bed, closing his eyes against the swish of skirts and the soft clink of glass and heavy sound of coin. He sighs softly, sleep reaching up to claim him, the warm press of the air cool against his sweat-damp skin as he instinctively seeks out warmth in the light blanket and the heavy heat of Bush.

**

The faint toll of bells echoes in the damp stillness of the morning. The heat of the day is blocked by the roll of fog off the sea and Hornblower shivers slightly, moving closer to the heat beside him. His eyes still closed, he lifts his face to the warm breath, the heat of a kiss as his lips find another pair, pliant and open.

Hornblower swallows, deepening the kiss with the slide of his tongue, tasting sleep and rum and sex and the hard bite of something rougher, deeper. A low groan rumbles against his mouth and he makes a soft sound in reply, attempting to pull away even as Bush’s hands press against his back, urging him closer.

Bush breaks the kiss, his sleep glazed eyes hazy as they stare at Hornblower, drifting closed as he leans in again, his mouth open, his breath warm as he grazes Hornblower’s lips. No words are spoken as Hornblower offers his own up in surrender, fitting his mouth to Bush’s lean, firm lips, the slide of tongue against tongue.

Hard flesh brushes his thigh as Bush presses his knee between Hornblower’s legs, fitting them together. The kiss changes, deepens as their bodies begin to move in concert, hard flesh meeting, thrusting, grinding. 

Hornblower breaks the kiss again and buries his panting breath against Bush’s neck, the rough burn of stubble grazing his flesh, his own lightly bearded chin leaving scores of red scratches on Bush’s collarbone. He puts his mouth to the skin, marking it further still with teeth and mouth, his tongue plying the flesh in steady rhythm with the roll of their hips, the sway and rock of their bodies. 

He feels heat pool inside him, wave after wave of it building behind the dam of his control as he reaches up, threading his fingers through Bush’s hair, biting and licking the flesh exposed to him. Bush’s cock is thick and hard against his thigh, solid proof of Bush beneath him. Calloused hands stroke his back and buttocks, the hint of pressure at the tight muscle enough to steal a broken cry from between his lips.

Bush growls hotly next to Hornblower’s ear, the sound thick with both sleep and exhaustion as he grinds against Hornblower. Desperation fuels Hornblower’s response as he pushes back against Bush’s hand then thrusts forward, seeking out pressure where he can find it, groaning thickly as Bush’s hands grab hard at Hornblower’s buttocks and force him against Bush’s muscled thigh, his hard cock. He groans again at the sudden flood of his release, his hips pumping relentlessly against Bush’s flesh. 

Shuddering as well, Bush seeks out Hornblower’s mouth once again, his tongue thrusting deep as he spills himself in the space between them, thick heat pooling on their flesh as the bells toll again and they surrender once more to sleep.

**

“Morning, Sirs.” The girl avoids the bed as she brings in the water, the steam shrouding her as she averts her eyes. “Fresh water for washing. Breakfast is ready.” She sets the pitchers down and continues to stare at the ground. “Will there be anything else?” Hornblower shakes his head, his face aflame with heat and shame. She raises her head and his eyes widen, the unexpected, familiar blue of Annie’s sapphire eyes meeting his. “You enjoyed your stay in Kingston, Sir?”

“Most…” Hornblower clears his throat roughly. “Most enjoyable.”

She curtsies and smiles at him, letting her gaze drift to Bush, sprawled naked and free of the thin blanket that covers Hornblower. “We enjoyed having you, Sir.” Her smile widens and she curtsies again. “Good day.”

He watches her leave with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction, pleased at the smile she left him. He pushes the blanket back and slides from the bed, striding to the washbasin and pouring the hot water into the white bowl. He breathes in the steam and sighs, his body sticky and feeling not his own. 

He wets the cloth and presses it to his skin, scrubbing his body roughly, coming back to himself as the brisk pressure sloughs away the night’s excess. The fat tallow of soap is scented sickly sweet, so he leaves it lay, preferring instead to scrub himself again with the cloth before moving to the drain once more and pouring the remaining water over his head. He shivers as the heat and cool war around him then wipes the mop of curls away from his face.

He nearly drops the bowl as he turns to find Bush staring at him, his eyes intense and dark as they make their way along Hornblower’s body. They finally reach Hornblower’s eyes and Bush nods his head. “Mr. Hornblower.”

Hornblower sets the basin down and returns the slight nod as he makes his way toward his bag to retrieve a new uniform. “Mr. Bush.”

Hornblower dresses quickly, his fingers sliding smoothly over the buttons, making short work of his waistcoat and jacket. He runs his fingers through his hair, searching for some semblance of order from the tangle, freezing as Bush comes up behind him, the smell of the soap nothing like sweet on his skin. “Allow me.”

Bush steals the ribbon from Hornblower’s long fingers, letting it thread between them before capturing it in his own. He lays it across Hornblower’s shoulder as he works his fingers through the thick mass, combing it into a thick line. His fingers trailed along Hornblower’s neck beneath his collar as he bent his head, his breath fanning across the nape. “Almost done.”

Shivering, Hornblower manages a small nod as Bush takes the ribbon from his shoulder, winding it tightly around his hair. Bush pulls away slowly, his hands trailing down Hornblower’s back. “There.”

Hornblower nods and exhales shakily. “Thank you, Mr. Bush.” He steps away as Bush returns to his side of the room, dressing just as easily and efficiently as Hornblower himself had. Hornblower’s fingers shake as the gather the ribbon to bind Bush’s hair, strengthening with every twist of the black. They gather their things in silence, surveying the room one last time. 

“Breakfast, Mr. Hornblower?”

“Yes.” He picks up his purse, the faint clink of few coin bringing a small smile to his lips. “And then, perhaps, one last stop?”

“You mean we have not been relieved of all our coin?”

“Not quite all.”

“Well then, Mr. Hornblower. After you.”

**

As they approach the docks, Hornblower feels the heat of the island dissipate in the rough breeze off the sea, the cloying scent of fruit and flower vanishing in the face of salt and brine. The loud sounds of the men carry on the air and he stops, inhaling deeply. 

Bush stops as well and looks back, his eyebrow raised in question. 

“One stop, Mr. Bush.”

“Ah, yes.” He walks back to where Hornblower stands and glances at the darkened building beside him. “There?”

“There.” Hornblower pushes open the door and enters the room, the smell of the sea overcome by the deep, musty odor of books and paper, piles of scrolls and stacks of leather bound pages filling the space. The man behind the counter glances up and, seeing their uniforms, hurries over to the counter. 

“Hello, Officers.”

“I’m looking for two books. Perhaps you have them?” Hornblower pushes a scrap of paper across the counter and waits as the man scans the shelves. 

“Yes. Yes. I think I can accommodate you, Sir.” He moves off deliberately, not bothering to glance at Bush as he shifts uncomfortably by the door. He returns a few moments later and sets two volumes in front of Hornblower. “Here you are.”

Bush glances over and raises an eyebrow. “ The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire?”

“And Almagest,” Hornblower nods, counting out the last of his coin as the shopkeeper tells him his total. He pushes the money across the counter, the emptiness of his purse and pockets a marked difference than when they’d set foot on shore two short days ago. He waits for the shopkeeper to wrap the package and then takes it, falling in step with Bush once again as they head back for the docks. “I think they’ll be very informative and interesting.” He glances over and catches Bush’s eye, conscious of what leaving shore means leaving behind. “If you’d like, Mr. Bush, I’d be happy to share.”


End file.
